Leave My Body
by geelato
Summary: F!Hawke and gang meets a Fenris ala Wolverine - woke up with no memory of his past other than his name - in modern times, where superpowers are prevalent. Hijinks and chaos ensues. Modern AU and craziness.
1. Comfortably Numb

_"I'm gonna leave my body, moving up to higher ground. I'm gonna lose my mind, my history keeps pulling me down." _

**_- 'Leave My Body', Florence + the Machine_**

* * *

><p>He hadn't realized how much he treasured his memories until he lost them.<p>

It was an aching emptiness, not just in his heart but in his mind. Blank spaces where _something _should have been. It cried out inside of him, and he thought he would never find happiness again.

All he remembered now was the pain that had consumed him, that burned from the inside and the outside and everywhere all at once. Pain that both burned and chilled at the same time. The pain that had been so intense that he had drawn inside his own mind to hide from it, only to be trapped by the pain there as well. He knew then, that it was a pain that will echo in his body and mind till he took his very last breath.

It was his first memory; his rebirth.

He wished he had died.

There was blood everywhere, made starker by the whiteness of the room he was in. White floors, white walls; all awash with scarlet blood. He knew that some of it had been his own. But now it was interspersed and mixed with the blood of all the ravaged bodies littering the ground.

Rage; that was something else he remembered. Waking up in agony… and rage. Seeing the people he knew instinctively had done this to him. And then… seeing only red. At first, the red of blinding anger, then the red of blood.

All of which had led to this moment; him standing alone in what looked like a previously immaculate lab chamber.

He clung onto every vestige of memory he had, because he had nothing else to cling onto anymore.

So he racked his brain for more, every little detail, forcing himself to remember even the pain to try to make sense of the wreckage that was this room, that had become his life.

He had a name. A name that had been whispered to him over and over again while he had been engulfed in the pain. It had almost been buried in the haze of the pain, but he remembered now.

Fenris. His name was Fenris

He caught an image of himself in a shard of mirror on the floor. He picked it up, almost reverently.

A man with impossibly green eyes and hair as white as pristine snow stared back at him. Then he lowered the mirror to his neck and saw the reason for the pain. Pale blue tattoos formed what looked like the veins of a leaf on his neck, ending in two curved lines at his bottom lip.

He looked down on himself, as naked as the day he was born – except he couldn't remember the day he was born; no, no, don't dwell on that, it hurt too much – and saw that those tattoos continued all across his torso to his arms, from his lower body to the ends of his toes.

They may have looked like normal tattoos, but they were ridged and thick and Fenris – that was his name, he was sure of it – could feel whatever substance that was underneath those tattoos swirl and pulse alternately inside his body.

Another wave of anger threatened to tide him over – these monsters had done this to him! – but the tattoos flared into an ethereal, brilliant blue and the mirror slipped through his hand even though he was still gripping it tightly. The mirror shattered into minuscule pieces on the ground.

Fenris stared at his hands, which were still glowing. His anger subsided to be replaced by shock, and the tattoos dimmed in tandem.

What the hell had they done to him?

* * *

><p>Florence Amell – or Hawke, to her friends, because that was her real last name, damn it – was drunk. She wasn't even trying to deny it anymore. The others had taken at least as much alcohol as she had, if not more, and they all stumbled out onto the streets together. She saw that she was not the only one who was swaying a little on their feet. Aveline though, stood as ramrod straight as ever, evidently sober.<p>

Aveline _always_ volunteered to be the designated driver. She shrugged, Aveline's loss was her gain; she never had to restrain herself from imbibing ridiculous amount of alcohol whenever the gang went out together.

Just as Hawke was about to declare her love for mojitos, Aveline informed Hawke that she was going to go get the car and that she was going to leave her in charge of making sure nobody wandered off in a drunken stupor. Hawke tried to regain some semblance of sobriety as she attempted to do a head count.

There was Anders, who was so tall that Hawke could easily see his blonde hair bobbing near the entrance of the club. And beside him was Izzy, whose rich and throaty laughter could be heard from at least two miles away.

Then Hawke caught sight of Merrill, who was standing dazedly on the corner of the sidewalk, staring at something only she could see. Her enormous green eyes were half-lidded and Hawke knew that her innocent-looking friend was not only drunk but stoned as well.

It took Hawke a little longer to find Varric, who was shorter a few inches in height when compared to most people but had multitudes more charm than almost anyone Hawke had ever met. He was still talking to the bouncer, who was seemed to be entirely engrossed by whatever Varric was talking about. Hawke saw a couple of boys who couldn't have been a day older than fifteen sneak into the club while the bouncer was distracted. She snickered; Varric had that effect on everyone.

She heard the familiar smooth purr of engine draw up on the road behind her. It was a limousine. She groaned. Why had she handed Aveline the keys to this monstrosity of a car again? It was so conspicuous; especially when all Hawke wanted was to spend a slightly drunken night with her friends and a normal club with normal drinks and normal people.

She was so sick of the uppity clubs that practically grovelled over her, with those pretentious drinks and all those other stuck-up, spoilt rich brats who only fawned over her because she was an Amell. She huffed; she wasn't even a real Amell, not really, or at least she certainly did not consider herself to be one.

She suddenly remembered that her car was at the mechanic's, since she crashed it the other day. To be fair, she had not expected there to be a house at the end of the road. She could have sworn the house ambushed her.

Aveline came out of the car and helped everyone into the limousine, leaving Hawke for the last. The bouncer and the other people still lining up outside the club were openly gawking at them now.

Hawke groaned again. "I hate this fucking car," she announced. It was her turn to be guided into the car and Aveline growled, "I hate _driving_ this car."

The black-haired woman thought that was positively the funniest thing she's heard all night and could not stop giggling all the way while being guided into the car.

Aveline, ever so trustworthy, dutifully dropped everyone back home safely. Some of the places she drove the car to had the residents still out at three in the morning staring at the opulent car. Even Aveline herself griped at having to drive the car.

Finally, after dropping Varric – who had not been as drunk as he seemed; Aveline suspected that the man could hold his liquor much better than he often pretended to – off at his so-called luxury suite situated above his beloved bar, The Hanged Man, Aveline drove Hawke home.

Leandra Amell was already at the doorway waiting for Hawke when Aveline pulled into the driveway. She carried Hawke, who was half-asleep, out of the car.

"Hello, Leandra," Aveline greeted Leandra, who smiled back at her in acknowledgement.

"I'll just help Florence up to her room. You don't have to stay up for that. I'll let myself out after that," Aveline told Hawke's mother.

"Thank you, Aveline, for all this," she replied softly.

"No, it's the least I can do, after what you've helped me with," Aveline insisted. Leandra's eyes became downcast, but she didn't say anything else.

Aveline was rather glad about that, to be honest.

* * *

><p>Hawke woke up to a pounding brain, even though her eyes were still closed.<p>

'Fuck, I think my brain's trying to tell me something. I think it's trying to tell me: OW.'

She heard her room door creak open and the pounding in her brain increased. This time, she said it out loud, "Ow."

Her sister's distinct laugh reached her ears. Normally, it sounded tinkling and pleasant, like listening to tiny bells swaying in a gentle breeze. Right now, it sounded like fingernails scratching on a blackboard.

"If you know it'll hurt, why do you always go out and drink yourself blind?"

"I think this time, I've really become blind," she moaned.

Bethany laughed again, and it only increased the pounding of her brain once more.

"What are you waiting for, Bethany? Do something about this," Hawke rasped, her throat dehydrated.

She heard rustling of clothes and then felt her sister sit down gingerly beside her on the bed. Her sister put her hands on either side of Hawke's head and she felt coolness flow towards her brain. A few moments later, the pounding had ceased, and noises stopped being so irritating anymore. She finally opened her eyes.

"_That's_ why I always go out and drink myself blind. Because I get all the alcoholic fun, and then I can get rid of the pain just like that," Hawke grinned at her younger sister.

"I'm moving away soon, you know, and then you won't have me to cure every hangover you get," Bethany warned ominously.

Hawke shrugged, "I'll still have Anders."

Bethany rolled her eyes and started to leave the room. Just as she reached the door, she turned back to Hawke and said, "Oh I forgot, Varric called earlier today. He said to return his call immediately. It sounded pretty urgent." And then she left. Hawke reached for her phone and dialled Varric. After three rings, he picked up.

"What's up, Varric?"

"Jesus Christ, Hawke, what time did you wake up?"

"Uhm," she glanced at her clock, "one in the afternoon? Which was… five minutes ago?"

"You're impossible, Hawke. Anyway, you might wanna swing over to The Hanged Man now. Everyone's here already. Well, everyone except Aveline and Sebastian."

"Varric, I think I need to talk to you about your drinking habits–"

"We're not drinking, Hawke," he said.

"What?"

The man coughed uncomfortably, "I think you should just come and see for yourself."

* * *

><p>About fifteen minutes later, Hawke was at The Hanged Man.<p>

She stared, unimpressed, at what Varric was making such a fuss about. One of her eyebrows was raised questioningly.

Sleeping on a bed in the back room of The Hanged Man, a relatively popular bar that is mostly owned by Varric in everything but name, was a huddle of clothes.

Well, a man in a huddle of clothes, but he was so completely covered from head to toe that you could barely make out the man inside, if it weren't for his shock of white hair.

"It's an old beggar," she pointed out.

"He's not old, and I don't think he's a beggar either," Anders disagreed.

"Look at his white hair, and the state of his clothes," Hawke argued.

Varric silently and gently pulled down the jacket that was covering the man's face and Hawke's jaw dropped.

Anders was right, it wasn't an old man! Despite his white hair, the face revealed a younger man, perhaps the same age as Hawke herself or maybe a few years older.

The man stirred in his sleep, and Varric hastily moved away. The odd-looking man opened his eyes so fast that everyone took a step back in surprise.

The man, just as surprised to wake up to a bunch of people staring at him sleeping, jumped out of bed and looked at them warily.

"Hey, hey. It's me, remember? I offered you a place to sleep last night?" Varric stepped forward, his hands held up to show that he wasn't holding anything dangerous. Everyone else followed his stride and held up their empty hands too.

The white-haired man snarled, "I am not an exhibit to be stared at."

Varric looked guilty and he apologized, "I'm sorry. These are… people who might be able to help."

The man continued to glare suspiciously at all of them.

"I do not need assistance," he said stiffly, as if he's forgotten how words sound. He adjusted the clothes he was wearing. Suddenly, Hawke saw a flash of blue glowing through the layers.

"What's that?" she gasped, without thinking.

He snapped his head to look at her. Green eyes that looked very much like Merrill's – except fiercer - stared at her, trying their very best to throw daggers at her.

"What's underneath your clothes?" Hawke asked bluntly. The eyes were intimidating, but her curiousity overcame that.

"You know what it is?" the man asked, a hint of surprise and – hope? – in his voice.

"I'm not sure," she admitted.

He narrowed his eyes, but he started shedding off his clothes.

Izzy clapped her hands together in lascivious delight, "Strip show at lunchtime? It isn't even my birthday today!"

Merrill shushed Izzy with a wave of her hand. Her attention was rapt on the man, though her eyes traced the lines of light hungrily, as opposed to Izzy whose brown eyes traced the man's contours with lust. The dark-skinned woman pouted at the chiding but she kept quiet.

As the man shed off layer by layer of his clothes, the blue underneath started to glow more strongly. Hawke wondered if maybe she had been wrong, maybe it's not what she thinks it is, because she doesn't understand how it can exist.

Then Hawke saw why he was glowing blue all over his body. Something was embedded _inside_ his body, in the guise of tattoos.

She stared, half-fascinated and half-horrified. She heard Anders and Merrill both gasp.

"What happened to you?" she blurted.

"That is what I am trying to find out," he said.

"Is that…" Merrill left the sentence trailing.

"Well, there's only one way to find out," Anders said.

"What?" the man demanded, evidently confused by the whispers of disbelief and wonder.

"Here, let me just…" Anders moved closer to him, his hands outstretched, wanting to feel the tattoos under his deft fingers.

The man flinched.

"I won't hurt you. I just want to find out what it is," Anders assured him.

He chewed on his lower lip and nodded slowly, though his entire body went taut visibly, like he was bracing himself for pain that did not come.

Anders, whose tall frame belied a man with gentle hands, ran his hands softly over the tattoos, barely touching them. The tattoos flared to life under his ministrations, reacting to his touch. A few seconds later, he pulled his hands back with a murmur of awe, "I think it _is_ lyrium."

The man seemed agitated, "What's lyrium? What do you know about it?"

Hawke hesitated. How much should they tell him? They didn't know anything about him to begin with. They didn't even know his name, for Christ's sake.

"Hang on, we've answered your questions so far. I think it's time you answered one of ours," Hawke said.

The man shifted on his feet uncomfortably before clearing his throat, "That seems fair."

"What's your name?"

He blinked once slowly.

"I am Fenris."

"Fenrir? Like in Norse mythology?"

"No, Fenris."

"Okay, Fenris," Hawke crossed her arms, thinking swiftly. This man may not be old and he may not be a beggar, but he certainly looked like a man who had lost everything. There was a haunted look in his eyes that she found to look out of place in those otherwise enchanting green eyes. She decided to tell him the truth.

"We… don't know much about it, to be honest," she mussed her short jet black hair with one hair, frustrated at not being able to describe lyrium properly.

She tried again, "It's some sort of… myth, I guess. Some years back, some archaeologist or something found a bunch of bound manuscript in a lost language. They deciphered them and found tons of references to a substance called lyrium. It's supposed to have many fantastical properties. The scientific community's been going crazy about it. There are theories about it, but no one has actually proven anything about lyrium."

Fenris arched a dark eyebrow, "So how did it get under my skin?"

_"I don't know_! It's not even supposed to _exist_," Hawke resisted the urge to run her hands through her hair again.

"It's supposed to be amazing, able to enhance powers," Merrill breathed, her accent distinctly Welsh.

"Like this?" the white-haired man narrowed his eyes in concentration, and suddenly his hand started to glow. It looked almost…not opaque. To everyone's disbelief, he stuck his hand through the wall.

"What the–"

Then he pulled his hand back through the wall – so that's why it looked almost not opaque – and it coalesced back into a very solid-looking hand.

"I can only do that when the lyrium comes alive," Fenris explained.

"You can phase!" Hawke managed to blurt out the obvious.

"The lyrium allows me to do it, I think."

"So… you weren't… born with this ability?" Anders asked.

Fenris' eyebrows scrunched up and he frowned, "I… don't think so."

"You don't think so? But powers always manifest since birth," Anders probed.

"I don't… remember anything. I only remember waking up with these," Fenris gestured at his tattoos almost disgustedly.

Then he seemed to realize something. "What do you mean, powers always manifest since birth?"

"Mine was discovered by my aunt, when she found me making snow above my cot," Merrill giggled.

"Making…snow," Fenris repeated, not quite a question, but not quite a statement either.

"It's not the only thing I can do!" Merrill shrilly exclaimed, thinking that Fenris was belittling her.

She braced her knees and did a sweeping motion with her hands. Smokey green tendrils rose up almost lazily around her. Some curled around her legs, tracing their way slowly up her body. Others reached out to the air aimlessly around her, as if they were grasping around for something to cling onto.

The others, knowing all too well the consequences of stepping into the radius of the harmless looking green smoke, quickly retreated to the far end of the room.

Varric, however, who had been standing in between Fenris and Merrill, did not move quickly enough and was snared by one of the green tendrils. Suddenly, several other green tendrils shot towards him, having found something to latch onto. The tendrils turned a sickly green, and wherever they touched on Varric's skin caused the skin to turn the same colour as well. Varric's eyes bulged, "Daisy!" he choked, hands grabbing uselessly at the tendrils of smoke.

Merrill swept her hand almost negligently at the tendrils again and all of them instantly dispersed into the air. Varric slumped to the ground, not quite knocked out, but definitely greatly weakened. The green patches on his skin turned an ugly yellow. Merrill dropped to her knees, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Varric. I thought you'd moved away."

Anders knelt down beside Varric, checking him thoroughly to see the extent of damage those tendrils had done. Then he laid his hands, which had started to glow an incandescent blue light, on the patches. He moved his hands from patch to patch, the light never flickering even once. Eventually, all the patches were gone and Varric seemed to be rejuvenated.

Both of the men stood up, but the taller one snapped at Merrill, "How could you be so reckless!"

"I-I'm sorry, Anders. I just wanted to show Fenris–"

"Who are you people?" came the question.

Hawke grimaced. She still doesn't feel comfortable just telling any Tom, Dick and Harry who they really were, but then again, as she glanced at the lyrium-tattooed man standing before her, he's not exactly any Tom, Dick or Harry.

"That's… complicated," she said lamely, her hand automatically reaching for her jet-black hair. She forced herself not to muss up her already messy hair and dropped her arm to her side.

His stare was unflinching and unnerving as he said, "I have plenty of time."

She sighed in defeat.

"To understand who we are, you have to know several things first," she began to explain. She held up her hand and started ticking off her fingers.

"First of all, I'm Hawke. You may hear some people call me Amell, but be assured that that's not who I am," Hawke said bitterly, still seething when she remembered how her mother had so quickly fallen into despair and hopelessness after Father's death.

The twins were only ten years old at that time, but Hawke was already old enough to know what was happening. She had tried to make things better; taking on part-time jobs, taking care of the twins, etc. Trying to keep together the life that Father had built for them.

But within half a year, her mother had 'tearfully reconciled' with her elder brother, Gamlen, the head of the Amells ever since Hawke's grandparents had passed away. Suddenly, they were no longer Hawkes, who were unknown and just making do with whatever they had. They were Amells now, proud and noble scion of the Amell family; old money, very influential and very public.

Hawke never quite forgave her mother for not working hard enough to preserve all they had left of Father, their lives together. The twins were still young, so they, especially Carver, embraced their newfound freedom with money. Hawke had remained aloof towards the money, the memory of their little apartment that Father had fixed from disrepair into a cosy home still fresh in her memory even now.

Fenris must have noticed the bitterness in her voice because he nodded gravely and rumbled, "Hawke."

"Right. Secondly, these are my friends. Varric, Merrill, Anders and Isabela."

They all made awkward gestures of acknowledgements.

"And we can all, sort of, _do_ something."

The lyrium-tattooed man stayed silent, waiting for Hawke to elaborate.

She cleared her throat. "Well, you know, Merrill and Anders can sort of do magicky stuff. And, uh, the rest of us can do… non-magicky things," she said lamely.

Izzy laughed her deep, throaty laugh, "Believe me, I can do all sorts of magic in bed."

"What she's trying to say is that she's a duelist. An _unrivalled_ duelist. With knives and daggers."

"I cheat, of course, but then again, I cheat at everything. I can see a little bit into the future, so I know what someone is going to do before they do it," Izzy said with a wink.

"I'm just a businessman," Varric said modestly.

"A businessman who can con anyone out of anything," Hawke added.

"And I ain't too bad with Bianca either," the short 'businessman' grinned.

"Bianca?"

"She's my crossbow," he said with beaming pride.

"A crossbow," Fenris repeated.

"Hey, don't diss the crossbow. They may be out of style, but they're still deadly," Varric defended his weapon of choice. And then he added after some thought, "And beautiful."

Then Fenris swivelled those eyes of his – why does Hawke feel apprehensive to look at his eyes, when she's fine with Merrill's? – onto Hawke.

"What about you?" he asked.

Hawke laughed and said, "Merrill says I have something called enhanced agility." She shifted her feet, "Basically, I'm very good at jumping around."

"While holding a very sharp sword," Merrill quipped.

"So… what is it that you guys do? Run around saving the world?"

"Not exactly, no. More like, we mind our own business, take up a few odd jobs here and there and out of nowhere someone or other tries to kill us and then we have to kill them instead. It's all very tragic," Hawke said.

"I see," Fenris muttered. He looked away, apparently trying to think of something else to ask.

"I… have not thanked you yet," he said tentatively to Varric.

Varric just shrugged, "Forget it, it was just a bed. Although, that reminds me why I called you guys over." He spun on the balls of his heel to face the others.

"I can't let him sleep here for another night. Corff will throw a fit to find a strange man sleeping in the back room when he gets back. And I don't have a spare bed in my house either. Anyone up for a new house-mate?"

"I would not trouble you any–" Fenris began, but Varric waved him silent, "You're one of us now; we can't have you running around, can we?"

Izzy immediately raised her hand, "I have a spare bed in my room."

"Ah, never mind, Rivaini. I still remember what happened to the last person I sent your way."

"Hey, it's not my fault he was such a prude! Who sleeps with _all _his clothes on, anyway?" Izzy protested.

Anders and Merrill shook their heads simultaneously. Varric understood; they barely had enough room for themselves in their own homes. Which left only Hawke.

Varric turned to look at the black-haired leader of their ragtag crew.

"Why, that's so kind of you, Hawke. What would we do without you, Hawke?" she said shrilly, obviously taking on the role of Varric.

"What would we do without you indeed, Hawke," Varric repeated with a grin, his own tenor sounding nothing like Hawke's imitation.

"Well, it's not like the Amell house is ever short on spare rooms," Hawke told Fenris brightly, "You'll have your own room and not just a spare bed!"

"I am grateful."

Hawke looked away from those eyes of his after a second.

* * *

><p><em>AN: My first actual multi-chaptered fic in a very long time. I may or may not be updating this frequently, as my muse comes and goes like a whore. But hopefully, it will be good. I have a rough idea of where I want to take this, and other than the characterization, many things will probably be non-canon and weird, but oh well, that's how an AU goes. Enjoy._


	2. Wayward

_"All of these lines across my face tell you the story of who I am."_

_- 'The Story' by Brandi Carlile_

* * *

><p>A normal family would have balked when Hawke brought home a man who was tattooed from top to bottom to stay at their house for an indefinite amount of time.<p>

But of course the Amells were anything but a normal family.

Bethany had been suspicious at first, but she'd warmed up to Fenris considerably once he demonstrated to her his phasing abilities. She had thought that maybe he had some of the mage gift, but after some probing and prodding, had been disappointed to discover otherwise. Leandra had been almost unnaturally unruffled by the strange man her daughter brought home. Hawke figured she was used to it by now, after having married a man who not only had a strong mage gift, but had also been unusually interested in all sorts of strange artefacts and odd things.

If they ever got through a week without something either bursting into flames or giving Carver bunny ears when Father used to tinker around with his relics, Hawke could not remember.

So it was that Leandra took it all in stride and even began to mother Fenris a little, since she's been looking for a Carver replacement now that Carver's moved out to college. In the beginning, he had been uncomfortable with the attention that was being lavished on him, but eventually he got used to it. Although Hawke thought he seemed to be more _resigned_ to it than _used _to it. There was a difference.

The others dropped in almost daily in turns to check up on Fenris, almost as if they were afraid that Hawke had kidnapped him to perform experiments on him. An entirely ridiculous idea, if Hawke had not sort of taken after her Father's interest in strange things.

Which she had.

But in a sign of goodwill for Varric's trust in her and a sign of utmost restraint of curiousity on her part, she had mostly steered clear from spending too much time with him, lest the urge to examine him and his lyrium tattoos overwhelm her. So Fenris spent most of his time with her sister or mother or any one of her friends.

Aveline and Sebastian had evidently found out about Fenris from Varric, because they came over as well to meet the 'new addition to the crew'. It was then that Hawke realized that introducing Fenris was going to be an interesting process.

It went from "This is Fenris, he has lyrium under his skin," to "But lyrium is just a myth!" to "Nope, it's real and it's under his skin," to "Oh, and he can stick his hand through many things." Of course, no introductions are complete without a proper demonstration. So it was that Fenris got many opportunities to practise his phasing.

As it just so happens, three weeks after Fenris more or less moved in, Carver arrived on the doorstep. Hawke had been unfortunate enough to be the one to open the door – not that she didn't love her younger brother; it's just that he was such a prick sometimes.

"What are _you_ doing back home?" she'd asked, surprised.

"For Christmas," Carver replied curtly, as if that explained everything.

Hawke frowned. "Don't you hate Christmas?"

"Not more than I hate spending Christmas _alone_."

"Hawke?" came a voice from behind her.

By now, she would have recognized that baritone anywhere. That and also the fact that Carver was staring stupidly at somewhere – or someone – over her shoulder.

She turned around to see Fenris standing hesitantly at the bottom of the stairs.

"Fenris!" she exclaimed brightly, "this is Carver, my prat of a brother!"

Carver began to protest but Hawke continued, "Carver, this is Fenris. My, uh," she wasn't quite sure what he was to her. Not charity, because she certainly didn't invite him to live with her out of the kindness of her heart. Not a friend, because a friend denotes that you at least care a certain amount for a person and Hawke wasn't sure what she felt towards Fenris. To be very honest, she was just plain curious about him. But she couldn't very well introduce him as 'an oddity that I'm curious about'. In the end, she settled for guest. It was a neutral word that suggested nothing and expected nothing.

"He's my guest."

Her younger brother raised both his eyebrows questioningly. A question that Hawke ignored.

"Come on in then. I'm sure Mother and Bethany will just be _delighted_ to have you home for Christmas," Hawke said, pointedly leaving out herself.

"You know, Sis, I _almost_ missed you in college," he huffed as he dragged in his luggage.

"It's okay. I didn't bother to miss you at all," she retorted breezily.

Fenris came forward to help Carver with his luggage, but Hawke waved him away. "Don't worry about it. Carver's a big, strong man now. I'm sure some heavy luggage won't stand in his way."

She smiled sweetly at Carver, who glared silently in return.

Okay, so she enjoyed teasing her brother, but what are younger siblings for, if not for the pleasure of teasing them? And honestly, sometimes, it was like Carver was just begging to be teased.

There was at least one thing about Carver's return that Hawke had been looking forward to.

She would be the first to admit that her relationship with Carver was rocky at best – although, she reflected, she may have to line up behind Carver for that admission – but all the resentment Carver harboured for his talented eldest sister and all the frustration she felt for her stubborn younger brother worked in their favour when they sparred for fun.

Fortunately, Carver had been looking forward to their sparring sessions as well, since, as he so bluntly and egoistically said, '_there was nobody in college that was anywhere near my level in melee combat_.'

Hawke suddenly felt an intense urge to wipe that proud smirk off her brother's face. Carver had only been home three days, but that was already a record of how long Hawke could go without Carver irritating her in one way or another.

They adjourned at the training room, which had been one of the very few things that Hawke had spent obscene amount of money on. It was equipped with every melee weapon imaginable; all sorts of swords, maces, axes, spears and daggers. To be very honest, Hawke was very proud of her collection and even prouder to say that she knew at least the rudimentary skills and techniques of wielding all the weapons in the room. Of course, her weapon of choice was a Walloon sword or two V-42 stilettos. She liked that they could be used to both stab _and_ slash her opponents.

Sticking the pointy end into someone is all well and good, but sometimes she needed the other person to stay alive, and having a sword through one's chest is extremely unhealthy, or so she's heard. Slashing, while good at incapacitating people, generally do not kill someone outright.

Carver, as expected, preferred the somewhat traditional Schiavona broadsword. It was a heavy sword, and did not really bring any added advantage with its weight, so Hawke thought it a bit pointless. Still, with Carver's bulk, Hawke knew that he could handle it just as easily as she could handle her much lighter Walloon sword or even her daggers. Today, however, they weren't sparring with swords. It was going to be plain old hand-to-hand martial arts combat for now.

Bethany sat quietly at the corner of the room, observing them and ready at hand for healing. By now, she knows both of her siblings well enough to know that when they sparred, injuries and blood were guaranteed features of the fight.

They sparred lightly at first, both of them merely testing the waters after so long since their last sparring session. Carver made a few offensive jabs, while Hawke remained mainly on the defence. They circled around each other for a while longer like that, both of them still trying to size up each other's improvements. Suddenly, Hawke crooked a smile. It was an obvious distinction when she finally threw herself into the fight. Her slow, nearly lazy stance of defence transformed within moments into a whirlwind of punches and kicks, where she became nothing more than a blur of flesh and pain. Carver gritted his teeth, ignored the injuries she was inflicting on him and pressed on with his attack.

Bethany never tired of watching her siblings spar; it almost always becomes some sort of complicated dance for victory. As their perpetual spectator – her mage gift made her an unequal sparring partner for either of her siblings – she had also memorized their fighting styles. Carver always threw all his weight behind his attacks in any fight. He was almost incapable of being on the defensive. Bethany thinks it's because Carver always felt he had something to prove; that he was braver and more aggressive and just… _better_.

Hawke, on the other hand, was unpredictable, simply because she was familiar with so many fighting styles. Generally though, she always tried to gauge her opponents before trying anything, and she preferred the hit-and-avoid tactic, which allowed her to utilize her agility. Often she would strike with light but numerous hits and then dance away before the opponent could retaliate. Rinse and repeat, until Hawke struck the final blow.

Hawke was slowly being pushed back by her brother's unrelenting heavy blows, even though Carver was already weakened from the various punches and kicks that she'd delivered. Suddenly Hawke stopped mid-fight, and instead of her hit-and-avoid style, she changed to an offensive stance in a style not too dissimilar to Carver's. Carver, to his credit, did not falter from this sudden change. If Hawke was expecting him to leave an opening in his surprise, she would have been disappointed.

Even with all the noises of exertions and muffled shouts of pain, Bethany heard the door open. She turned to look. It was Fenris. The white-haired man had taken to moving around the house like a ghost, drifting silently from one room to another, with nothing in particular to do, except to avoid attention and most likely, her doting mother.

Bethany had gotten used to the presence of the unnervingly silent man by now, and there was something more interesting to watch right now, so she turned her attention back to the fight that was going on.

Fenris has been wandering the Amell mansion as usual when he heard the noises. His ears had pricked up. Following the noises had led him to a door that was simple, unlike the other ornate doors in this mansion. Hawke had told him that he was welcome anywhere in the house, so he pushed the door open tentatively. He saw Bethany sitting at one corner of the humongous room, and then he saw the source of the noises in the middle of the room.

At first he only saw whirs of flesh going around in circles, then he focused and could make out Hawke and Carver. He realized that they were actually fighting. What an odd thing to do. Then again, throughout his stay, he had noticed that the Amells were a somewhat peculiar family. Not that he knew how a normal family should be like, but he had a feeling they were not it.

He observed the fight quietly, as was becoming his modus operandi. He didn't have anything that important to say, and so he didn't see the point in wasting his breath or attempting to fill silences with small talk. He supposed most people thought silence was uncomfortable, but on the contrary, he found silence to be soothing; something that he had control over, something that he could remember.

They were evenly matched, that much he knew. Even though Carver was injured from so many of Hawke's attacks, he appeared to be completely oblivious to the pain. Hawke, on the other hand, was finding it a little hard to strike her own blows now that Carver was unyieldingly pressing forward with his heavy attacks at her. Then he thought he saw Hawke roll her eyes slightly and the tables were turned. Instead of parrying or merely sidestepping Carver's blows, she jumped away from Carver. Now that she was out of his range, he was forced to charge towards her. Just as he reached her, she leapt above him, landing behind him. Before he could turn around, she locked her arm around his neck, pressing lightly against his windpipe.

"Yield?" she asked breathlessly but still smiling.

He panted, trying to regain his breath. He merely nodded his head slightly in defeat. Her arm dropped away from his throat. He stumbled forward. Hawke moved away, smiling in victory.

Bethany darted towards Carver. Her hands ran over all the bruises and abrasions on him, healing them as she went along. Fenris looked on impassively as he saw the flow of blood staunching from the cuts, and then the flesh knitting back together as if they'd never been sundered in the first place. Bethany told her twin to go clean himself up, since healing magic did nothing about the blood that was already all over him. He straightened up and walked away, with nothing more than a brusque thank you to his twin. Carver passed by Fenris on his way out of the training room and Fenris merely dipped his head in acknowledgement.

In the short three days that Carver had been home, Fenris had found the young man to be extremely brash and loud; the antithesis of what Fenris had become. To say that he found Carver jarring would be a mild understatement.

Bethany had approached Hawke to see if she needed any healing. Hawke had shrugged her off with a laugh and, "I spent most of the fight avoiding Carver's attack. You know how he's like. If he'd landed even one strike on me, I would have probably been forced to yield with a broken rib or something."

Fenris didn't know what to think about Hawke. It seemed that any time she spent more than a certain amount of time with him, she always found some excuse to be excused _from_ him. He had so many questions he wanted to ask her, but she was never around long enough for him to work the questions into the conversations. And since he was technically imposing on her hospitality, he thought it wise not to be too blunt with the questioning.

Still, he had no idea why she felt the need to avoid him.

Hawke saw Fenris standing unobtrusively at the corner of the room and called out to him.

"Fenris! Did you see the whole thing?" she asked, grinning lopsidedly.

"Only the end."

"Ah, the joys of teaching your younger brother a lesson in humility," Hawke said extravagantly.

"Why do you fight like that?"

Hawke shrugged, "Because I'm good at it. Because I like the thrill of fighting someone in close quarters."

"Can you teach me?" Fenris asked.

Hawke blinked in surprise, "Teach you martial arts? Being able to crush someone's heart with your bare hands isn't enough?" she asked lightly.

It was his turn to shrug, "It gives me something to do."

Hawke focused on cleaning her blade while considering the suggestion. Why was she avoiding him again? To stem her curiosity? But surely she would be too busy to be curious while teaching him, she argued internally. He may even find a new way to utilize his phasing abilities!

She started slowly, "Well, I suppose I could teach you. It's not like I have anything better to do."

For the first time since she'd met Fenris, a smile tugged at the lips of the strange man. His emerald green eyes became luminous and crinkles formed at the sides of his eyes. The smile lit up his whole face, like the first leaves of spring. Hawke's breath hitched. How had Fenris managed to hide that smile for so long?

Hawke thought that it was almost criminal.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I can almost promise 80% that something actually happens in the next chapter. Er, I think. In any case, review please. :)_


	3. Stolen

_"How does it feel, eating souls for money, huh?"_

_- **'Lady Jesus' by The Asteroids Galaxy Tour.**_

* * *

><p>Hawke knew three things for certain in life.<p>

One, The Hanged Man would never run out of alcohol, even if the liquid that they serve was _extremely_ dubiously called alcohol. Two, Varric's chest hair would someday propel him into becoming a paragon of manliness.

Last but not least, she was not a good teacher. At all.

She knew this because she tried to teach Carver swordmanship and martial arts, but had failed miserably. In the end, he had learned from a friend of Aveline's. It wasn't that she didn't try her best; she just couldn't understand why other people didn't find it as easy as her. Of course, Carver just loved to inform her that she was only good because of her enhanced agility, which she knew to be not true because fuck that, she worked her non-existent balls and slightly more existent boobs off training to get to where she is right now. But she would also acknowledge, albeit reluctantly, that her agility could be why everyone could not keep up with her whenever she tried to teach anyone.

Now, she realized she'd need to amend that statement to: _most_ people could not keep up. Because Fenris seemed to be picking this up with absolute ease; even Hawke felt a twinge of jealousy.

By the third day of training, Fenris already got the basics down pat. It shouldn't have been possible, but there he went.

Hawke was sulking in her room, she admitted that freely. She was sitting in bed with a book open in her hand and her eyes were trained on the words, but none of it was actually registering in her brain. It was a book on folklore or some sort of mythology. She'd grabbed the book with full intentions of researching more on the mysterious lyrium, but ten minutes in, her eyes glazed over and she'd started thinking about another equally mysterious thing.

She figured that the apparent loss of memory would be a side-effect of the lyrium, which once again brings her back to the question: How did the lyrium, quite literally, get under his skin in the first place? He was like an amalgamation of the impossible.

Irritated with herself and her traitorous, wandering thoughts, she got up from the bed with a rustle, and put the book back on her shelves. She evidently was not going to make any progress with the book today. Just then, there was a knock on her door.

She called out, "Come on in."

The door opened to reveal Fenris behind it. "Varric is here?" he said tentatively. Despite his intimidating appearance, the white-haired and lyrium-tattooed man tended to be rather awkward in most social situations. He was always too much of something; too direct, too harsh, too tactless.

Hawke heard Varric's voice coming from around the corner, "It's alright, Leandra. I know where Florence's room is." Her first name sounded so odd coming from Varric. She cocked her head to one side.

Fenris looked down the corridor and said, presumably, to Varric, "She's here."

Varric came into sight, grinning. "Hawke. I thought you'd disappeared and forgot to say goodbye. I almost felt hurt."

She replied with a grin of her own. Varric never failed to make her laugh. That's why they had gotten along so famously when they first met. They both liked a good laugh, and they both hid behind their jokes.

Even if Varric's jokes were often more well-timed and effective than hers.

"What would I do without my best wing-person? I'd cry myself to sleep every night," she retorted.

Fenris shuffled uncomfortably in between them; the awkward third wheel in the conversation. Varric, ever the man with tact, clapped him on the back, "How're you doing, Broody?"

Fenris raised his eyebrows. "I do not brood," he corrected the shorter man ominously.

Varric's expression turned grim and he said, rather seriously, "Friend, if your brooding were any more impressive, women would swoon as you passed. They'd have broody babies in your honour."

The white-haired man huffed and began to say something but Hawke interrupted, "Why're you here, Varric?" As far as she knew, Varric did not pay house calls unless it was something important. He was too much of a businessman to waste time doing so, when less important things could've been conveyed with a phone call.

Varric pulled a face at Hawke, unhappy that Hawke was ruining the fun he was having by teasing Fenris, but he answered anyway. "My sources tell me that there's an interesting job offer floating around," he said, stepping into the room. Fenris turned to leave, about to close the door behind him.

"No, it's okay. It's nothing secret," Varric chuckled. "In fact," he continued, "we could use your help with your nifty fisting trick."

Hawke almost choked on her own saliva.

Fenris raised those dark eyebrows of his again. Varric went on, "Hawke, have you heard of Athens Ryle?"

"The smuggler?"

"The one and only, though she once told me she prefers to be called a transporter of goods."

"Semantics," Hawke scoffed.

"You know what they say, Hawke. Words have power."

"Anyway, you were saying?" she drawled, stopping herself from rolling her eyes.

"Right. So, a little bird told me that Athens lost a shipment for some bigshot. Another little bird then told me that, as it turns out, this particular bigshot has got some big enemies who've stolen the shipment. Her customer is blaming her and now Athens is trapped in the middle of the mess. So she's just frantic to get it back."

"Let me guess: this is where we come in?" Hawke crossed her arms.

"Yup, we swoop in, steal back whatever it is that was stolen and save the day! Athens is so desperate not to get killed in the cross-fire right now that she'd pay us our weight in gold if we got the shipment back and solved her problem," Varric elaborated in glee.

Fenris stated flatly, "It can't be that simple." Hawke nodded in agreement.

"We-e-e-ll," Varric pulled the word, trying to delay breaking the bad news but the looks on the other two's faces prompted him to provide them with an answer, "The bad guys here? The ones who've stolen the shipment? Yeah, that would be the little resistance that Anders has got running in Darktown."

"What?" Hawke nearly shrieked the word out. She knew Anders was doing something behind her back and she even sort of knew what it was about but she'd long ago decided that she was going to ignore it for the good of their friendship. But doing something as reckless and dangerous as this? Maybe it was time for her to have a talk with him.

Fenris harrumphed, "Then we'll just go talk to him and get it back."

Varric snorted, "You obviously don't know Blondie very well."

"What do you mean?"

"He stole the thing for a reason, he's not going to just give it up, even to our dear Hawke," he winked at Hawke, who swatted at his arm.

"So what should we do then?"

Hawke sighed, "I guess we'll just have to steal the thing back from him without letting him know that it was us. Go get ready then. We've got a job to do tonight."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Ah, a very tiny little short update. Did I promise something will actually happen this chapter? Oops. Maybe next chapter. Sorry, my finals are literally around the corner so I couldn't do very much. But I didn't want to leave you guys hanging, so here you go. Reviews would be nice. :D**

**Also, thanks to raffinit for editing this and actually, every thing else. xD**


	4. Misunderstandings

_"So I'll tell you all the story, about the joker and the thief of the night."_

_**- 'Joker and the Thief' by Wolfmother**_

* * *

><p>"What are we doing tonight?" Merrill asked.<p>

"We're going to steal something from Blondie," Varric replied nonchalantly. Merrill's already big eyes widened, making her look a little unearthly. "But why?" she whispered, as though she was afraid Anders would hear her from a few miles away. "Technically, we're getting something back from Anders. He stole it first," Hawke explained to Merrill, not wanting to confuse the naïve Welsh woman. "But why did Anders steal something in the first place?" Merrill persisted in asking. The woman may be naïve but she sure was inquisitive.

"I don't know," Hawke said, frustrated, and then added, "Who knows why Anders does most of the things he does?" Merrill looked to Varric, presumably for a clearer answer, but he only shrugged. She was about to come up with another question but was interrupted by the door opening. In walked Fenris, who without any preamble, looked at the three people seated around the table and asked, "Do we really need so many people?"

Hawke raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean; do we need so many people?" He stared blankly at her for a moment before answering, "I mean: do you really need four people just to steal something?" Hawke's previously raised eyebrows furrowed into a frown, "Four?" The look that Fenris answered her with clearly implied that he thought she was slightly less than smart for even following this line of questioning. Finally, Hawke understood, "Oh! You mean… you're coming along?"

That earned her another one of Fenris' quickly becoming notorious looks.

She sputtered, "Wait, what? Who told you that you were coming along?" Fenris gestured his head at her, "You. You said, go get ready. So I did." She groaned, "I did, didn't I? But I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to Varric!" she attempted to justify herself. Varric laughed, "Nobody can read your mind, Hawke. Though you know, we should probably find someone who can." Merrill quipped, "That would be useful, wouldn't it? I wish I could read minds. I don't understand what you're all trying to tell me sometimes and I get really confused. If I could-"

"Merrill?" Hawke stopped the rambling woman mid-sentence. "Yes, Hawke?" she answered innocently. "Getting a bit off-topic there," Hawke warned mildly, then addressed Fenris again, "You're not coming along. You're right, I don't need so many people on a simple job like this." Fenris argued, "I'm sorry, but you said-" Again, Hawke cut him off, "I know what I said. I misspoke, alright? Look, I'll be honest with you, you've only been training for less than a week. I don't know if you can keep up, and I can't risk having you screw this up."

Fenris stiffened and his lips curled. "Fine," he said stoically, and walked out of the room. The room was silent, as Hawke realized how harsh her words must have sounded. Funny how some things sound fine in one's head but when spoken aloud…

The silence was broken when Merrill tentatively asked, "Hawke?"

"Yes, Merrill?" she sighed wearily.

"I think Fenris was offended by that," the Welsh woman timidly pointed out.

"I know, Merrill."

"Are we still going to get that thing back from Anders?"

"Yes, Merrill," Hawke said, with a finality that even the usually clueless Merrill could pick up on.

"So, Varric, any idea where or what this thing that Athens is so desperate to get back could be?" Hawke asked conversationally as they drove towards Darktown. Varric smoothly turned down a street before answering, "Well, where would be at Blondie's house. I think he thinks that nobody would ever guess he'd hide anything in that…cosy place he calls home." Cosy place, indeed. If by cosy, Hawke thought, Varric meant tiny and cramped. "And _what_ is it?" she asked again. "Uh. I was told we'd know it when we see it," was Varric's decidedly vague answer.

"That's not very specific, is it?" Hawke's exasperation with Varric was evident. "It's a small place, how many smuggled items can he hide in there?" Varric defended. Hawke stared incredulously at the short man. Not that it had much effect, he was driving after all and his eyes were trained on the road. "Varric," Hawke started slowly, carefully choosing her next words, "I've never known you to be so careless when it comes to jobs…"

"There's always a first for everything," Varric retorted. "Yes, but…what I meant to say is, is something the matter?" Hawke was never any good with tact. She often wished she was, though. "Nothing's the matter, Hawke. Just preoccupied with some family business stuff. I am a businessman, above all else. I do this because I like you, Hawke, and you're a good friend," Varric assured her. He made another turn and parked next to a curb. "Well, here we are. Darktown, the most dangerous place this side of town. Keep your eyes and ears open for trouble and keep your weapons close to you, ladies."

Merrill giggled from the backseat, "I don't have a weapon, Varric." The man reached behind and patted Merrill's knee fondly, "You don't need one, Daisy." "Let's go," Hawke urged, already out of the car, knives and daggers already hidden in various places on her body. As much as she liked fighting in close combat, she had a Glock holstered on her hip, just in case.

"Where's Bianca, Varric?" Merril asked. "I didn't bring her today. I didn't think she'd appreciate being used against a friend. I brought this instead," Varric showed Merrill the gun, then exited the car. "Oh, guns," Merrill said, with a distinct lack of her usual enthusiasm. "Problem with guns?" asked Hawke, as Merrill got out of the car. "I just… guns are just so messy and loud and… and cruel," Merrill explained, her hand still on the car door. "Merrill, you kill people by suffocating them," Hawke said pointedly, trying her hardest not to laugh at the irony. "Yeah, and it's a very quiet and clean death, isn't it? No blood or noise."

"Cruel, though. Crueler than guns, I'd say."

"Well…yes. Maybe," she admitted. Then she slammed the door shut. Hawke and Varric both looked at her in alarm. "Merrill! You've just alerted everyone within at least a one-mile radius that there's fresh meat to be had!" Merrill gasped as she realized the implications of what she'd just done. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" she apologized. "Too late for that, Daisy. Incoming," Varric warned, pointing at a bunch of thugs that just barrelled around the end of the street. Hawke cursed. So much for stealth. Varric quickly fixed a silencer onto his gun. Well, at least there was that, Hawke thought. The thugs saw them as well, and one of them – the leader, presumably – yelled, "Get them!"

"Really? Can't you people come up with a more original slogan? 'Get them' …what a cliché," Hawke bantered, as the leader headed straight towards her, holding what appeared to be a steel pole, used as a makeshift club. She whipped out two daggers and ran to meet him head on. She threw one at him and it struck true at his shoulder. It stopped him in his tracks for a moment, as he grasped the dagger in pain, leaving himself open to be killed. Hawke propelled herself forward with a quick jump and stabbed him in the chest. The look of disbelief on his face as he toppled over was almost comic. Hawke didn't stop to laugh though. Despite her lack of tact when it came to social situations, she still knew her way around a combat field.

Casting a quick glance around, she saw Varric almost casually firing his gun at the idiots trying to attack him. Merrill, meanwhile, was surrounded by several men choking and clawing at their own throats in desperation on the ground. She turned her attention back to some of the thugs attempting to take her off guard. A few daggers and stabs and slashes later, and the fight was over. Merrill was right about one thing; her method of killing was a lot less messy. Hawke's clothes were drenched in blood, though luckily not with hers.

"Let's get out of here before any more of them show up," Varric suggested. "Good idea," Hawke nodded her assent, and the three of them broke out into a trot down the street, heading towards Anders' house.

A few quiet scuffles and a couple of wrong turns later, they ended up in front of Anders' house. "Well, you said Izzy would take him for a drink tonight, didn't you?" Hawke whispered to Varric. He nodded and whispered back, "If there's one thing you can trust Rivaini to do, it would be to show someone – even Blondie – a good time with alcohol." Merrill, who overheard that, asked excitedly, "Is she going to get him drunk and then have sex with him?" The scandalized look that Hawke gave her was probably a good enough answer but Varric elaborated, "No, Daisy. Izzy would never take advantage like that. Alcohol's alcohol. Sex is sex."

Merril looked a little glum to find that out.

"So the house should be empty, right? Come on, let's do this before anyone attacks us. Again."

Varric stepped up to the front door and picked the lock. "Tsk, tsk. Such a simple lock to pick. I should get Blondie to change the locks to something better the next time I see him," Varric chastised. "Yeah, just don't forget to skip the part where we break into his house and jeopardize his precious underground rebellion or whatever it is that he's running," Hawke reminded him. Varric gave her a thumbs up and pushed the door opened. It opened with a creak. Hawke winced. It was like everything in this mission was determined to not be stealthy.

They padded as softly as they could into the house. Hawke had only been here several times since meeting Anders and it remained as cramped as she remembered. Though, she thought as she looked around, it was a lot cleaner than she remembered. Maybe it was the lack of coughing invalids or patients bleeding all over the floor who were present the last few times she visited. She heard Merrill's sharp intake of breath. "Anders runs a free clinic here?"

Oh, that's right. It was Merrill's first time at Anders' house. What a nice occasion, Hawke thought.

"Yup," was all she said. "Spread out, guys," Hawke ordered, before realizing that in such a small house, there really was no point in 'spreading out'. "Err, I mean, go search for this thing we're supposed to recognize the moment we see it," she amended her order.

Less than a few minutes later, Varric called out from the only other room in the house. "Guys, I think I found something."

Hawke and Merrill joined him in the room, to find him staring at a blank expanse of wall. "It's a…wall," Merrill stated, her disappointment obvious.

"It's not just a wall, Daisy. Look at the colour of it. See how it's a square chunk of it is lighter than the rest?"

Merrill peered at the wall, then her face lighted up, "Oh! I see it. Is it a secret room?"

"I think so. Hawke, help me with this bed," Varric moved to one end of the bed while Hawke moved to the other. On the count of three, they pushed the bed away from the wall. Varric rapped his knuckles on the wall and a hollow sound was produced. "Yup, it's a secret room," he said, satisfied with his find. Hawke handed him one of her daggers, as he tried to find the crevices around the lighter area of wall, so that he could pry it open.

Suddenly, they heard a muffled voice from behind the wall.

"Shit, is someone coming from behind the wall?" Hawke asked, then realized it was a pointless question because how would any of them know anyway. All of them got ready for the wall to open and for a fight to ensue. A few moments passed before they realized no one was going to burst out from behind the wall. They relaxed, but then they heard the muffled voice again.

"Varric…" Hawke began, "is it possible that the shipment Athens wants back so badly…. is a person, and not just cargo?" she asked Varric quietly, perhaps in the hopes that if she didn't voice it out loud enough, it might not come true. "Uh… perhaps?" Varric answered with a question, the knife already prying loose the wall. With one last push, the wall cracked open. Varric pulled the crack bigger to see what was inside. "On second thought, Hawke. I think you nailed it the first time."

Hawke walked to Varric to see what he was looking at. There was a man tied to a chair, with his mouth gagged, in the secret room. She stared in disbelief.

"Oh, hi there…. Hawke, why is there a man tied up in Anders' secret room?" Merrill asked, her face genuinely quizzical.

"I… honestly don't know," was the best answer she could manage.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Err, did I say finals? I meant, I was procrastinating. So here you go, the product of my procrastination. It seems like Anders has a kink! *giggles* Oh don't mind me, it's currently 4AM where I am and I may be a little sleep-deprived. But the plot is legit, I assure you. This will all lead somewhere. In the meantime, reviews and favourites are very much welcome. :)**

**And again, credits to raffinit for tolerating my manic antics at 4 in the morning and even helping to edit stuff. **


End file.
